Jónsland, Jónsson
by OnWithTheButter
Summary: All Icelanders were his children, including the boy he met at the Danish court, who he came to know as the spirit of his nation.


**A/N: Technically, this fic fits into a series of oneshots based off of the style of Brennt Barn Forðast Eldinn, but it stands alone, you don't have to read anything else to read this. Though if you do want to read the others, that would be lovely uwu**

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A young student was walking, contemplating his studies. Not necessarily the studies of his schooling, but his own that he had picked up since moving from his home to Denmark. He walked by the splendid new court house, where those who held the future of his nation sat, so much in contrast to the turf homes of his youth. More and more, as he gained more knowledge on his people and their past, becoming what everyone around him had begun to call an expert, he was already feeling the desire to leave his mark on the course of history.

Standing rigidly still, gazing intently at the doors, imagining a day when he would walk through them to make a difference, he was surprised when they opened and a child of no more than twelve years old stumbled out. He wanted to speak out, but the mere presence of the blond boy muted him somehow. The child trudged down the stairs, after quirking his head at the young man staring at him. He seemed so at-home here, but anyone would know this wasn't a youngster's place. Much to his surprise, the boy waked right over to him. He seemed shy, making eye contact only from a distance and directing his gaze squarely at the ground once he made his way over. The boy was thin, had to be unhealthily thin, fragile looking. Up close, he could tell that it wasn't just the sunlight, his blond hair was a washed out platinum color. When he spoke, he used Danish, albeit with a heavy and familiar accent.

"Are you from Iceland?"

The young man couldn't fathom how the child knew that just by looking at him. "I am. Hey…are you lost? Why are you here?" He spoke kindly, but couldn't cover over the bewilderment in his voice.

The mysterious by didn't answer his questions, instead reverting to both's native Icelandic tongue. "What's your name?"

"Jón. Jón Sigurðsson. What's yours?"

The boy looked up at him, the strange violet color and air of his gaze giving his eyes an eerie look. "Egill… I am the spirit of the Icelandic nation."

_The spirit? What does that mean? And why is the spirit in Denmark?_ The confusion must have been evident on Jón's face, wanting to ask a thousand questions at once, but not knowing where to start, or whether the boy was serious to begin with…

Before he could clear his thoughts, Egill spoke again, waving a hand in a type of salutation. "I'll see you again, Jón. Bye bye." With a smile, the strange child took off in the opposite direction, probably going wherever he had intended when he came outside in the beginning, leaving Jón to stare confoundedly in his direction until he was out of sight.

And that was just this young man's first encounter with the so-called spirit of his people.

"Hello…Jón."

Jón had been reading while eating lunch in a park when the small voice startled him. It had been months since that encounter, but he still thought back to it. He's heard of people claiming to be visited in dreams, but that was no dream. That was a living, tangible child. And if he needed something to prove it to himself by here was that child again, peeking over his shoulder.

"…Hello." Jón was slow to answer after the initial shock.

Sitting down next to him, the boy leant over to read what he had, voicelessly mouthing the words. He grinning momentarily, his eyes lighting up. "Don't you think we had it so much better before?"

Jón felt that same spellbound feelings he had before, and struggled to answer. "Yeah… It's a shame, what's happened, isn't it?"

The boy shook his head. "I live with it. Things will look up one day."

"I want to make a difference, it's not right. …Hey, how old are you anyway?"

"Uh…nine hundred, fifty…something."

"Really? What…are you?" He offered the boy some pieces of bread, feeling bad for eating in front of him.

Egill's face didn't show any signs of being perturbed at the subject, much unlike Jón. He nibbled tiny bites before he answered, and added to his bone-thin frame, Jón had to wonder when last he had a full meal. "I know it's hard to understand, that's why I don't usually say anything. My existence is eternally linked to the nation. I don't know why or how. Everything you've read and heard, I've lived with. I _am_ Iceland." Without even looking at him, Egill seemed to know the young man's dumbfoundedness. "So if you were wondering how I knew you were from Iceland…" he finished the sentence with a shrug. "It's okay if you don't believe me. I'll stay with you as long as I can," he looked up with a bright face as his voice got cheery, "because I can feel something special about you."

He only stayed on this day for a few more moments before vanishing again. But he kept returning to visit the young man, each time staying with him a little longer. Egill said that he enjoyed his company not only because of what he felt from him, but because of being, for the most part, separated from his people for so long. Jón wanted to ask him questions more and more every time they met. Why did 'the spirit' look so young? (Egill couldn't explain, other than that he stopped growing completely in the fourteenth century, and had grown slowly before then anyway.) Why was he away from the island in the first place? (He had gone to live in Norway when the nation came under Norwegian rule and had been passed to Denmark later, but that was all basic history and Jón understood it.) Did that mean that every possible existing nation had a spirit like him? (Egill supposed, though he noted that he was the only one he knew that used the 'spirit' term. It was just easier to say that.) Did he go back home to visit his land and people? (Of course, he went frequently and had been there for some recent events, just no one noticed.) They discussed small details of the past, shared their desires and goals for the future. More and more, they talked like old friends would. While he could easily make adult conversation on these topics, it was apparent that Egill was as much a child mentally as he was physically. A mature child, in some ways, due to the centuries of his life and his intelligence, but nonetheless childish.

Just as he has promised, Egill stayed by his side throughout the years. He followed Jón to the national library to study, frequently went back to his home with him. And yet he still lay low. He didn't follow Jón like a shadow in public, preferring to be with him alone or with few others. One time, Jón had asked him whether the Denmark 'spirit' minded him wandering off all of the time.

"Denmark doesn't care," was Egill's matter-of-fact response. "He never really did. When Norway was still here, he would ask me what I was up to and where I went, but he was much more of a caretaker all of my life. Denmark now just makes sure I eat something and brings gifts once in a while, but he doesn't mind what I do. It's boring here, there's nothing to do where I live. I want to go home and stay home. Will you take me home with you next time you go?"

By now he had no choice but to be one hundred percent convinced that this child really was a spirit that embodied their nation. A human would have nearly grown to adulthood by now, and besides, there was no denying Egill's knowledge of the history Jón had so diligently studied. No regular person could fake that, with the proper emotions and all. But of course, Jón wanted to believe it from the beginning. It wasn't really that strange to an Icelander, the concept of a national spirit. The hard part was accepting that the spirit was merely a child, despite living for nearly a millennium. A child without a parent, without a guardian, alone. There was a late evening when he questioned this status, to be answered by another casual short speech.

"I don't know, I was always just alone. I was happier that way. I've never questioned why it is. When I was smaller, I'd stay with different people. Then I started keeping around Þingvellir. For the sake of a name, I've always been Ingólfsson, because he was the first human I claimed. But no, I've never known a father, every one of them that might have been died. It's like that and I've gotten over it. Mortality is a fact. I suppose I had a mother, but I didn't know her. Norway and Denmark have only ever been as brothers. But they've hurt me, so I can't cling to them. So no, I don't really think I have a family."

It was soon that Jón became directly involved in politics, bringing up the fate of Iceland. His influence was undeniable in a short few years. For Egill, life suddenly seemed less dull. He was immensely proud of this man, even more so than he thought he would be from the start. What drew him to him was simply the pure love Jón had for the country. Egill hadn't completely expected real change to spring from it. He had almost entirely given up, every time he had thought he hit rock bottom, he fell more. The day before he met Jón, he stood stripped of every pride and treasure he had ever had, he saw nothing in the future but eventual decease. The charismatic young man at first was just someone who knew and understood his current life, then became a way to escape from the bleak reality, then at last, a tangible hope.

"Can I go back with you? Don't leave me alone here!"

With the Alþingi restored under Jón's influence, and elected to sit at the restored parliament's first session, the man was headed back to Iceland for the first time since moving to Denmark over a decade before. Egill begged to go with him. At first, Jón was reluctant to take the boy, he was not his child and technically had nothing to do with him, nor did he feel comfortable taking him away from a place he was made to live for whatever reason, especially without a word of blessing from his guardian. Speaking of the guardian, he hadn't in all of these years once met this Denmark, even once acquainted with all levels of Danish government. Then again, maybe he had and passed him off as any other person. However, Egill had said that is he were to meet him, there would be no way he could forget him. Even then, he had no idea what to look for or recognize.

Egill's asking to along quickly turned from pleading to stern. A nation's spirit has the right to witness such an important event, he argued. Denmark could not deny him this right. A fair statement to a man who's life work was already becoming a fight for his nation's rights. Besides, Denmark probably expected him to find a way home for it anyway.

A year later, Jón would marry. It upset Egill at first, though he knew it inevitable (the two had been engaged longer than he had known Jón anyway). He feared having to give up his access to Jon and be lonely again, but he rapidly grew to love the woman as well. Ingibjörg took kindly to him as well. She baked him treats (that he hardly had the appetite to finish), made up and told him stories (that he critiqued), knitted him scarves and mittens before winters (that he proudly wore in the most displaying ways possible). He was always welcome in their home, but of course, they wouldn't have been themselves not to be as hospitable and caring toward _Iceland himself_.

It had to have been about fifteen or sixteen years after meeting the child. "Jón Sigurðsson?" were words that bounded down a hall as he was fixing to leave and return home, spoken by loud, cheery voice. Young voice too, actually. The blond man he turned to meet hurrying toward him looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't find a name to place with the face.

"You're Jón Sigurðsson, right?" The stranger flashed a knowing grin.

"I am. I'm sorry, who are you again?" Jón spoke cordially, giving a friendly smile. As the man got close, he noticed that he did seem rather young in a government building…

"Look, I've heard about you, watched you even, for years. I should have introduced myself sooner, apologies." The stranger ran a hand through his wild hair. "Mathias, or…Denmark. I'm sure Isbjerg's told you all about me."

"'Isbjerg'?" Jón had to chuckle. "Is that the common nickname for the child in these places? It's an honor to meet you, sir."

"No, no, there's no need to address me formally. I'm just another guy, my status means nothing. Just call me Mathias." The Dane gave a lopsided smile before continuing. "Egill really loves you, you know that? Hey, everyone loves you. Thank you for looking out for the boy though. Heaven knows I've been far from the best caretaker, and I'm sorry. Sorry for what's happened to him, sorry for what's happened to you, his people."

Jón was honestly taken aback by Denmark's attitude. He had expected…something else, from what he heard. He nodded. "He's a pleasant child."

"You think? That's not the same kid I know. Then again…" Mathias shrugged. "I'm sure he's wonderful for you. That's how he feels for you. For me, it's much different. I guess it's too late to change any of that though." He sighed. "I never thought it'd just be the kids. I love them, but I'm no good. They don't usually like me. Even the little human kids, they like me at first, then they don't… Ha, sorry, I'm rambling."

Actually, Jón couldn't recall what exactly he expected Denmark to be, and this man actually seemed too fit the part fine. He had nothing against the Danish nation, plenty of his friends were Danes anyway and he fit in with them just fine. Over time, Egill observed how this man could fight tooth and nail for the nation (that Egill had found so grievously wronged), while forgiving the past and moving on. Of course, it was indeed different to a boy who lived through that past, but as years rolled by, he too began to learn to forgive. After all, Denmark was trying to make things right. Iceland could emulate a mere man in forgiveness, and had already begun to without realizing it. First, Jón was simply a human to pass time with, then he became a dear friend, and then a role model.

It would be a lie to say he hadn't become inextricably attached to the man. By now, their friendship didn't seem all that out-of-place in public, a middle-aged man walking and talking with a preteen child blended in with the city. Egill now shadowed him everywhere. He had also quickly befriended Jón's adopted nephew, giving him his first friend about his physical age in centuries. After every pain and tragedy, he grew not just content, but happy. He was learning to be normal again. So long isolated and ill, now recovering and relearning, being filled with hope and peace. It took him many years, even after meeting Jón, but he had found a family, after claiming to never have had one. To Jón, Egill was a pitied child, an invaluable source and reference to the past, but most importantly, the embodiment of the nation he loved and belonged to. Egill's feelings had evolved from that which he felt toward any of his people, to the unexplainable draw he had felt after first meeting him, to a hope for his own life, and eventually transcending to a love he could only explain as to a father. Even though he was the older one, but his man had cared for him, watched over him, fought for him. In a way, this man was Iceland's father, without a doubt.

"What are you writing?" Egill had been completely silent to that point, Jón not even noticing when he walked up behind him. "Are you writing back home again?"

"Ný félagsrit, yes." The man's words were terse, eager to return back to his work, but he couldn't help the brief smile.

"Can you tell them that I love them and miss them?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Jón cast his eyes curiously at the boy.

"Is it strange to you that I would actually care?"

"No…I- No, Egill, I'd be concerned if you didn't care. I just…I can't just write that. It's odd."

"I didn't mean to directly say something like 'The nation's spirit sends a message…', it's all in how you word it. You're a scholar, I believe you can convey my feelings symbolically."

Jón paused for a moment before answering. "As 'This nation has made great strides and we should all stop to applaud our collective progress by working together'? That conveys your heart and gratitude to the people for standing up. And 'However, we cannot lose sight that the nation yet has so far to so. We cannot back down until we reach our full goals and see the restoration of our own nation back to us completely'."

"Toy with it. You know me, probably better than any human has in centuries, maybe all of my life." Egill grinned momentarily, turning his back before adding one more thing. "You know, there's nothing wrong with the blatant that most will see only as metaphorical and esoteric. 'If embodied, this nation would be unmeasurably proud of each and every one of you' should work just fine." After a poignant silence, Egill turned his head back and caught Jón's eyes. "Proudest of you. There isn't a way to express how I feel. I will miss you greatly."

Yes, Egill was well aware of a man's mortality. As years, decades rolled on, even through the great advancements and victories, he knew that this would eventually end. Jón would definitely die and leave him alone again. His memory would be all he had to continue to propel forward. But it wasn't the momentum toward liberty that he was afraid to lose, it was the sense of personal belonging that he knew would be lost again at his death. As the nation's spirit, he knew he would go on, but the small part of him that was purely human would have to die again. He wouldn't have his own close friend anymore. He would lose his family.

And so he treasured every spare moment. He dwelt upon every minute, engraining the memory of a man into his existence. He hung on every shred of happiness, knowing that these days and memories that created the future without the darkness. He did all he could to smile, to laugh, to enjoy at every second. All good things must come to an end in this world. Egill refused to leave Jón's side right to his death bed. "_I will stay with you,_" he repeated, "_as long as I can._" In his final moments, Jón saw the child cry for the first time. He held his composure, not a twitching finger or quivering lip betraying his emotion but the silent tear dripping from his eyes' corners.

"I-" Egill's voice cracked, "I loved you." He fell silent again, watching through blurred vision. Right at the last few seconds, as he prepared to vanish away like the spirit he claimed to be, he spoke his last, confessing words to the man who changed his life. "Goodbye…father."

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**A/N: I **_**did**_** contemplate titling this Jónsþjóð, Jónsson, which I think would be more accurate, but…that did not sit right with me. :l**

**I really do not feel like explaining the references in this orz …I also took liberties of stretching what I know to make the story interesting, so I'm sorry if it isn't entirely accurate. ._.**

**I really feel like my writing style became more interesting while writing this ahaha**

**~Butter~  
**


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